


building the sandbox

by helplesslynerdy



Series: the sandbox [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, More baby holding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:00:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22043725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helplesslynerdy/pseuds/helplesslynerdy
Summary: Alfred is at his wit’s end.
Relationships: Alfred Pennyworth & Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne
Series: the sandbox [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1492793
Comments: 18
Kudos: 320





	building the sandbox

_Nine more hours._

_He would be relieved at 0700 hours._

Alfred straightens his waistcoat in the mirror, the habitual nature of the gesture soothing his frazzled nerves. The wind howls outside his window, the only noise disrupting the hush over the vast grounds on this snowy evening.

He shakes his head as a slight scoff crosses his lips. He had been a captain Her Majesty’s 21st Special Air Service Regiment- he could certainly handle this mission honorably.

A piercing cry shatters the silence, and Alfred looks heavenward. If only Master and Missus Wayne hadn’t been stranded in Gotham proper by the storm. 

Squaring his shoulders, Alfred goes to meet his charge with all the dignity of a man meeting a firing squad.

* * *

_0100 hours._

_Six hours of duty remaining._

This lone thought is sustaining him as the young one continues to cry. Alfred is stationed the stove, gingerly heating milk for the babe. Its refusal to be soothed means that whilst eyeballing the water’s boiling progress, Alfred has his foot hooked around the front wire of a pram, rocking the carriage back and forth. 

The infant is as red as a beet, face scrunched up and a mouth with naught but gums and tongue wide open. A wail more consistent than any clock has Alfred scalding his wrist testing the milk. 

He goes to lift the babe from the pram, and thinks better of holding the milk at the same time. Alfred marvels at the smallness of it, nigh-daily, if he’s honest- but never more so than when he is forced to carry its frankly ridiculous minuscule weight. Its tiny fists are balled, flailing at the air as if trying to find the rapscallion that kept Missus Wayne from feeding him at his regular hour.

“Trust me, young sir,” he mumbles to himself between cries, “I would much prefer for your mother to be here too.” 

The bottle in hand, the babe _finally_ seems ready to quiet and have his midnight meal. For a few unfocused seconds, it refuses to recognize the bottle nipple at its lips. Alfred presses forward the scantest millimeter, and the baby blessedly begins to suck.

Alfred whispers a quick thank you to the Almighty before returning focus to his charge.

Just as the baby’s eyes drift closed to focus on each gasping tug at the bottle, the lights go out.

And the cries begin anew.

* * *

_0400 hours_

_3...bollocks._

It has not stopped crying.

Walking briskly to and fro-

Bouncing-

Singing lullabies like a looney-

It doesn’t matter.

Nothing works.

Alfred thinks he just might join in.

Continuing his quick-step in front of the roaring fire in Master Wayne’s study, Alfred tries to block out the screams to no avail. It’s when it grabs on to his lapel and throw itself back out of his arms that Alfred _just can’t take it another buggering millisecond-_

“OH, THEN, I SEE QUEEN MAB HATH BEEN WITH YOU.”

And as proof that he has gone completely ‘round the bend, Alfred finds himself reciting one of the filthiest soliloquies from one of the Bard’s filthiest plays. 

His voice takes on a Northern brogue, and the years drift away like a discarded weight as he begins to gesticulate even with the babe in his arms. Muscle memory, vocal memory- they both pull him about in a dance like the fire is actually the footlights again-

“This is she!” He finishes with a flourish, panting and sweaty.

He looks down to see two dark grey eyes peering up at him, thumb being worked furiously by that tiny mouth.

_Blessed silence._

“A Shakespeare fan, eh?” He huffs a laugh at his own joke and takes a seat in a nearby armchair. The babe takes hold of Alfred’s tie, and leans his head against Alfred’s shoulder. Again sucking his thumb, the young master rubs his cheek back and forth against the soft cotton before letting out a small sigh and relaxing fully.

Alfred finds himself leaning his own cheek down to the downy black curls. He breathes in that warm, soft smell that only babies have and begins in a softer voice-

_“It little profits that an idle king,  
By this still hearth, among these barren crags…”_

As the snow continues to drift earthward, a butler recites the lament of a man utterly discontent with the passage of time- and the butler finds himself finally...content.

* * *

_0400 hours._

_Many wintry seasons later-_

“Alfred!”

Alfred ties the knot in his dressing gown and opens the door to the study. In front of him, his own boy is the very definition of haggard. Hair askew, large bags under his eyes.

In his arms is a tiny toddler, red-faced with tears staining his cheeks, wailing his grievances against this life to the sky.

“Yes, Master Bruce?”

“You have to help me,” Bruce begs, hoarsely. “He’s been going at it all night.”

“Mmm.” Alfred’s eyes soften as they take in the new wee master. “Have you tried Shakespeare?”

“...what?” The poor man looks ready to burst into tears.

“I seem to recall a similar young one who refused to be soothed when his nightly schedule was disrupted. He preferred a bit of Mercutio to calm him. Young Master Jason here might enjoy it too.”

“But…”

“I’ll put the kettle on, and come back in quarter of an hour to see if that Shakespeare seminar in Virginia I sent you to actually did any good.” Alfred sniffs, not fully meeting Bruce’s gobsmacked face for fear of losing the composure he is holding onto with the barest of threads. As he reaches the door, he turns back and adds final parting advice.

“Mind you put your heart into it. Babes tend to be the most critical of audiences.”

**Author's Note:**

> Quotes from people much, much more brilliant than me- Shakespeare’s _Romeo and Juliet_ and Alfred, Lord Tennyson’s “Ulysses.”


End file.
